


Advice

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Advice, Brotherly Love, Caring, Courage, Gen, Honor, Kings & Queens, Mentors, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: Times the Pevensies went to Professor Kirk for advice. T for memories of war.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. Edmund

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimer...wait, I haven't done a standard one yet. Maybe I'll try that for a change. All things belonging to Narnia belong, obviously, to Narnia, and therefore not to me.  
> Wait, that didn't turn out standard after all...maybe I'm just hopeless.

"Professor?"

The Professor looked up from the papers scattered over his desk to see Edmund, King of Narnia, Caspian's companion, and one of those dearest to the old professor's heart, standing politely in the doorway, waiting an invitation to come in to the Professor's study. Deportment correct, expression polite, and all that. But the Professor could see one of his hands gripping the doorframe, and knew whatever Edmund was coming about, it weighed on the young King's mind. Well, perhaps he could help.

"Come in at once! I was going mad for lack of interruptions!" Edmund's shoulders eased; it is always a fine thing to be welcomed, and welcomed warmly. "Pull up a chair. That's it. Now," and the Professor put his fingers together and gave the the Just King his full attention, "what can I do for you?"

"It's about Peter, sir." Edmund's lips were pressed firmly together under his clear, sharp eyes, and Professor Kirk thought once again he looked far too old for someone so young. Even with his extra years in Narnia.

"And what has the High King done now, eh?"

"It's what he's _going_ to do, sir." Edmund paused. "He's enlisting," he stated quietly.

The Professor leaned back against his cushioned chair. He closed his eyes, sighing - and remembering. Remembering another war, another hand gripping something tightly as Digory himself said his goodbyes. Even now, the Professor could still see the details of that whitened hand as clearly as the carved lantern on his desk. He opened his eyes again to look at the King still holding on to the sides of his chair with white fingers. "You object?" he asked quietly, playing the opposing advocate. Edmund, Edmund the Judge and Law-Keeper, needed to work things out logically. He needed an opponent to do that with.

Once Susan would have done that for him.

Edmund paused. "He's no longer the King," he whispered quietly.

"Meaning?" the Professor asked sharply. He knew Edmund didn't mean what Susan meant when she said that. Edmund looked up at his tone.

"Peter went on campaigns by himself in Narnia," Edmund explained quickly. "Sometimes I could go with him." He smiled ruefully. "Sometimes even Lucy went. Once, even the Gentle Queen." Professor Digory's eyebrows raised; he was quite curious to know what led to Susan's going to war. "But there were times neither of us could go. None of us. Peter went by himself. We didn't like it - anymore than he did, if one of us had to go into danger, especially alone - but he was still a King, and his safety was still _everyone's_ priority."

"And now he'll just be a regular soldier," Professor Kirk finished. He shook his head. It was times like these he was grateful for ever scar and experience he'd suffered. Every longing his heart had endured, for the smell of a tree and a golden light he'd never seen again. For a life lived with his heart in one place and his duties in another.

He needed it all, to learn the patience and wisdom once he was called to mentor four Sovereigns also outside of their true home.

Edmund nodded, still thinking. And with his fingers still clenched around the wooden arms of the Professor's chair.

"My dear young man," Professor Kirk remonstrated gently, "you yourselves told me what Aslan declared. If He declared Peter a king, a change of world will hardly negate that, will it? In fact," the Professor mused, "from all you've told me, Peter would hardly have been safe in Narnia, either, even with all those soldiers. Were it not for Aslan's aid, he'd never have survived to make it back."

"Aslan's aid, and sometimes Lucy's cordial," Edmund answered wryly, his mood lightening a moment. But the Professor could still see the shadows in the lines on his face, shadows only others who had known fear would recognise.

"What else is troubling you, my boy?" Again, he thanked Aslan - and Christ, to use His other Name - for all he had learned while waiting. Experience became a rich treasure, especially when one of the four not-children sought his aid. "Come, come, that's something you could have worked out for yourself, easily. My body may be going, but my mind's still sharp. Tell me what you're wrestling with."

"Peter - he is a King." The Professor nodded. "He's - he couldn't be anything else. Even at school, in classes, the teachers, the students, they saw it. Head boy, Captain - of both sports he played. He was offered a prestigious position in the government, too, if he went through University." The Professor's eyebrow raised. He hadn't heard about that. Edmund smiled, pride in his voice and pain on his face. "He's a King, and he'll never be anything else."

"And he's Aslan's, and he'll never be anything else. But he's not the only one, you know. Susan listened to your classmates-"

"Fell over themselves to talk to her, this last year" Edmund interjected, a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice. The Professor didn't address it. Susan was still an open wound, for all of them.

"And they told her several tales of her younger brother, too. And of bullies who dared not mock, sneaks who shut their mouths, and a few who even learned courage." The Professor leaned forward. "You've left your own legacy, Edmund, and it's also the legacy of a king."

"Still trying to leave it, sir." Edmund shook his head. "But that's not what I meant. Peter - he's the _High King_. He leads wherever he goes. Always. And he leads with courage, and all the things we're supposed to have and often don't. Most other leaders fall under his command, if they're the same age. But if they aren't…" he trailed off. "Or if they don't lead like Peter does-" His voice wavered as he fought for control, fought to speak only with the pride his brother inspired, and not his fear for him.

"Some of them may resent him," the professor finished, understanding what Edmund saw - that Peter was indeed a King, and there were men, fearful and afraid, who resented any whose character held what they lacked.

Edmund nodded, wordless, fighting as a child for the control he'd had as a diplomat. "Why can't I go with him?" he cried. "I've _fought_ in wars before. I'm older now than Peter was when he went to Narnia and followed Aslan to our first war!" He buried his face in his hands. "I looked into it. I can't go, not yet, because of these stupid, stupid laws," he whispered. "Not till next year. _If_ Mum and Dad agree. A year by himself, because of _law_. A law I no longer make, but still have to uphold. Somehow."

"And so you have to let Peter go alone," the Professor said softly. Edmund's face came up quickly.

"But there won't be anyone there to balance him! He needs us, all of us, just like he did in Narnia. And he's going alone, and there will be so many who won't understand, who'll _resent_ him for being a King. He'll be alone, and alone means dead. In a war like this - we've already lost so many. We can't - we _can't_ lose him as well. We can't, Professor. We can't." He scrubbed angrily at his wrists. "It's already hard enough now. If we lost him - how can we be a King or Queens without him?" he whispered. "We can't."

The Professor sighed. "Why did you come to me?" he asked unexpectedly. Edmund, releasing his breath, took a moment to think. The Professor didn't ask unrelated questions.

"Because you've survived away from Narnia, as a Narnian, this long," he responded. It was a judgement all four of them had made soon after coming back, and none of them had regretted it. "Because we need your wisdom."

"And that wisdom is something Aslan has granted me, though I was often entirely alone," the Professor responded gravely. "He does give us what we need, Just King. You, having often been His hands and mouth to do so, know that is true. I can tell you from my experience, as a Narnian - and as a soldier - it is true here as well. Your brother will stay in Aslan's paws, whatever the battlefield. And you, Just King - though I cannot guarantee your brother's safe return," he said, rising and putting his hand on Edmund's shoulder, "I can tell you that Aslan will give you all you need, to remain a King, no matter what world you live in. No matter what happens here." Edmund looked away - still such a boy, a teenager.

Still such a king.

Wise enough to recognise the truth, trying to be strong enough to bear it.

"After all," the Professor finished, "it was not only Peter that Aslan said would be always a King."


	2. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: wisdom, Solomon tells us, is both a metaphorical person and a gift from God, and not something I claim to own, nor even something I'm acquainted with in large measure. (That is changing very. Very. Slowly.) Oh, and Narnia isn't mine, either - I've at least wisdom enough to claim that.

"Professor?"

The Professor looked up from the fire. He hadn't been seeing the fireplace, the flames, or even his study with its walls of books. After Edmund had left, the memories had come: vivid, engrossing, from the touch of a friend's hand to the scream of the enemy soldier, in their muddy, crumpled uniforms, and the sound of their guns. He had never quite forgotten the sound of those guns, and what they meant.

But it wasn't the younger King who stood in the doorway. It was the older one. Just as respectful, just as polite. Just as resolved to seek resolution. It was easier for him than for his brother, because he'd lived with the Professor twice, and that second time for much longer after he'd been a King, and a King returned. He was sure of his welcome, and of what wisdom the Professor had to offer.

Still, no harm in making sure. The Professor beckoned, getting up to draw another chair close to the fire. "Your brother's been in to see me," he told Peter quietly. Peter sighed even as he smiled, quickly taking the chair from the Professor with his stronger, younger hands.

"I'm glad he did." He set the chair down and settled into it. The Professor looked over, holding the High King's gaze.

"You've questions of your own now?" Of course the High King would. The young always did.

The older folks, now - they learned to be content learning the answer, rather than immediately knowing it. Though the Pevensies were better about it than most; nothing like ruling, the Professor supposed, to give one a sense of one's own limitations.

"More like worries," Peter admitted quietly. He looked steadily at the Professor. "Have you seen Susan, since she came back?"

"I have not." The Professor pulled his pipe and handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning the ashes out. He glanced back up at the High King. "But it has been some time since she's been back, and she has not come to see me. That says much, you know. And I have heard of her too," he added quietly. Polly - dear Polly, as good as ever, and as sharp edged over that goodness as ever too - had invited the two Queens and Jill out for a night. She'd called Digory up after, and ranted. Ranted loud, too, about what society does to Queens. But her rant had softened into grief when she spoke of Lucy and Jill's silence. Whatever they felt, they would not berate the Gentle Queen in public, and what had been meant as a night of fun became a night of restraint and silence. Polly, who had blunted her sharp edges with the grieving, had needed the freedom of an old friend to speak to afterwards.

"She has not been herself, since she came back. I fear she is no longer a friend of Narnia." The grief in Peter's face did not make it weaker; this, the Professor knew, was a burden Peter was determined to bear as the eldest, as her former sovereign. It was his, as High King, and the Professor did not attempt to take it from him. "I cannot save her," and here Peter's voice wavered. But he left it, turning instead to those he still had charge over. "But I'm leaving, now, as Ed said, and I wondered, having left yourself, if you could help me figure out what to say to Ed and Lu. He'll be the oldest now, and Lu's already hurting. She lost her best friend."

"Not her best," the Professor interjected mildly. He caught the pipe ashes in one hand and stretched out towards the fire, dropping the grey flakes into the flames. They quickly vanished. "And it has not dimmed her joy. Not any more than these ashes can put out those flames."

King Peter smiled. "Aslan has always been her closest friend," he remembered.

"And that gives her a joy deeper than any hurt."

Peter was quiet, thinking. "Am I right?" he asked at last. "I know I am. But I would have your judgement. To make me rethink, if I must, or to cause my doubts to flee when I see-" he stopped. "When I see my siblings' brave and hurting faces, or the face of the man I will have killed."

The Professor sighed. "Once we have a war there is only one thing to do. It must be won. For defeat brings worse things than any that can ever happen in war,"* he quoted. "To make this war, or to cause it to cease, is no longer your task, Peter Pevensie. It is only your task to fight in it."

"I would end it before my brother is of age," Peter said grimly, and a half-smile passed over the Professor's face.

"He would have ended it ere you were of age," he reminded Peter, and Peter too smiled, the humor bracing against the reality. Both knew the brothers' love for each other. "I would have ended it before both, if I could have."

"You tried your best, sir."

"Our best wasn't enough. Not in my generation or now. It brings its own questions. Already the death toll..." the Professor shook his head. "I'm afraid there's little of humor in me tonight."

"Memories, sir?"

"Memories. You've known them from Narnia, King Peter, but they've faded here. They will take you by surprise, I think, if you are not prepared for them. And here you are not fighting Ogre nor Giant nor Werewolf, but man. Man, in all his glory and sickness. You'll fight a being fallen and still with that flickering reflection of his creator." The soldier he'd shot, falling into the muddy trench, was suddenly in front of him, mouth open in shock. His best friend the unit, pain shaking his body as he breathed his last. There had been far too many deaths. He blinked, willing away the memories. He focused on the King before him. A King who might be going to his own death. "There are things you can do before you leave, High King, to help."

"Name them, sir."

The Professor smiled. Resolute and kingly; Edmund had been right to fear lesser men hating this King, but Edmund, too, had forgotten how much men clung to kingliness in the middle of horror. "Seek your brother's advice, before you go. Let him shield you by preparing you as much as he can." Peter nodded; the Professor did not doubt he would have done so anyway. "Perhaps with your sister as well; it will comfort her, and it will give you bright and burning light to cling to, in the mud and blood of war. Write to them, as you can. Letters home will be cherished just as much as their letters to you. Even if you've not much to say - speak and write of Aslan, and you'll find your own courage lifting."

"Anything else, sir?"

The Professor sighed. "I've no advice for Susan, other than leaving her with Aslan. Use your own judgement there. Be just, be gentle, be valiant, for those things are under attack in war just as much as life itself."

"And are not to be sacrificed on the altar of life, for without them life is nothing," Peter finished.

"And survive," the Professor said, smiling crookedly. "You already know when to be gentle and when to be wrath, so I'll say nothing of it. But do not forget what you know."

"I'll write you, and you'll remind me," Peter responded, still smiling.

"As will your siblings," the Professor agreed. "All else I could say has been said better. I'll say to you what was said five years earlier, High King. Be one of those who 'defend our island, whatever the cost may be [...] we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.'** Fight for England as if it was Narnia; not yours to rule, but yours to fight for."

"Like my siblings," Peter said, rising. He nodded down at his mentor. "And like my counselors." He turned towards the door, calling "Good night, Professor," over his shoulder.

"Good night, King Peter," the Professor murmured. He looked back towards the fire. The old memories were there still, vivid and demanding. But next to them was a new memory, a High King in a chair across from him, ready to go to his own war. A memory just as a vivid, and more demanding in its immediate need. "Bring him back to us safely," the Professor prayed. "For the sake of his brother and his sisters; even for the sake of an eccentric fool like me. Please bring him back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Earnest Hemmingway; he lived 1899 - 1961, and though his works became famous late in life, I'm pretending the Professor knew them anyway.  
> **Winston Churchhill, spoken 1940.
> 
> Also, this is not a commentary on war in general; but the World Wars, I do believe, were just ones to fight in, and I've written this conversation with such a belief.


	3. Susan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I’d always wanted to continue this series, but never had a subject for the girls to come to Professor Kirk for advice on. In the middle of writing my Christmas prompts list (which was a wonderful way to procrastinate) this idea occurred to me; I just have to go write it and see how it turns out. … This was meant to be a disclaimer. I sincerely hope my story doesn’t get as off track as this did. This isn’t mine, and neither, apparently is a working brain.
> 
> A/N: Takes place shortly after The Silver Chair.

The Gentle Queen did not interrupt Professor’s Kirk’s time in his study as her brothers had. Interrupting was not her way, however much the Professor welcomed them. This was partly because she’d kept the courtesy she’d learned as Queen, but in part because she’d lost a little of the assurance and courage she had gained in another world. Rather she waited, watching for a moment when his attention was unclaimed, and company a welcome relief to unwelcome solitude. She found her opportunity as he walked around his small garden, a routine she had observed him following quite early every morning, before breakfast. She put on her hat and gloves and followed him out the door, only to discover the observant professor waiting for her, a ready smile on his white-bearded face.

“May I join you this morning?” her gentle voice asked.

“I would be delighted,” he said, bowing, because of all of the four, Susan missed the physical reminders of her court and kingdom most. He offered his arm, and she took it with a smile. Her smile could still fell a King from his horse. (Not a Talking Horse, of course. If they were being ridden, they’d have enough sense to stop moving and wait till their King recovered from the shock of the vision before him. But it was rare that Talking Horses were the ones being ridden.) But however much more at ease his gestures made her, he still had to wait patiently while she brought out whatever was on her mind.

And something was. Her smiles had been noticeably absent from the two evenings of Narnian fellowship thus far. The Professor and Polly (and probably Peter and Edmund as well, the Professor thought) had been waiting to find out what was on her mind. He could wait a little longer while she found her way to the right words.

“I think your roses are doing well,” the young Queen said presently, reaching out to touch the green buds with careful fingers.

“The credit for that is not mine, alas! Though I’ve been told I could grow pipeweed in a desert, the more delicate flowers…” he shook his head with a smile.

“And yet your touch in delicate relationships is as skilled as any I’ve seen,” Susan commented.

Professor Kirk raised his brows. “Is that the reason for your company, my dear? Is there a relationship you’re finding delicate?” Susan hesitated. She had been made a girl once more, and the Professor tried, with grandfatherly patience, to make this easier for her. “Is this about the new members of our circle, by any chance?”

“I don’t get on with Jill like I do with Lucy,” Susan blurted out, the blunt words softened by the worry in them. 

“Ah.” The Professor waited for more. It was not long in coming, for this had weighed on Susan heavily.

“I don’t—Lucy and I argue, sisters do, but we’ve always been able to love through it. She listens, and we love many of the same things. I don’t know how to  _ reach _ Jill; she’s so different. Impatient, and headstrong, and strong, too—I can see why she’s a good friend for our cousin—but she’s rough. It’s the word I keep coming back to. I want to be her friend, and yet I can’t—I can’t find anything we have in common.”

“Nothing?” the Professor asked mildly.

“I thought it might be that she wasn’t family at first.” Susan’s stride was picking up without her noticing it, and the Professor wordlessly lengthened his own to match her flaring skirts, guiding her with his arm to the longer route. “I even get on better with Eustace now than her; he talks a little bit like Edmund, logic and redemption and turning problems over and over, though Edmund has so much more skill. And he  _ fits _ . He hero-worships Peter, and gets on like a younger brother with Edmund, and Lucy’s kind heart welcomed him at once. He’s so eager to learn, he’s easy to talk to. It’s also evident he doesn’t think before speaking, and his blunders are easy to excuse.”

“And young Miss Jill’s are not so easy?”

Susan gave him a startled glance, and then laughed, her soft, beautiful, clear laughter. “No, there is that. It’s a bit more painful, because she’s often fiercely aware she’s made a blunder. Her pride flares as quickly as a Mouse’s, though she’s humble enough to see her mistakes. I don’t think she feels she fits in as well, and I feel it with her. She is fierce because she is used to being alone. I want to help her. But all those words—fierce, strong, a flaring pride…”

“They are in many ways the opposite of the Queen you taught yourself to be,” the Professor finished for the Queen, who was slowing as she fell into thought. “All except strong, my dear, you had to be that as well.” Susan flashed him a smile of thanks. Nodding in acknowledgement, he brought the subject back to Jill. 

“My dear young lady and accomplished Queen, I would ask your forbearance for circling back around to something already said. Forgive an old man’s repeating himself, but have you nothing in common with her?”

“Nothing but Narnia. That is all I have been able to find in our conversations these two days past.”

“And yet you have that.” Susan looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. “There are tales you have told of rough Giants, fierce Dwarves, and prideful animals. Tell me, what did you have in common with them? For you never told of not relating to them, even though they were of different races. Why not?”

“Narnia.” He knew that longing, the strong mix of homesickness and love and wistfulness that this one word could evoke. Narnia would always be their true home—until Aslan’s country. And only Jill and Eustace had truly glimpsed that. Oh, how Digory envied them that! It must have been as beautiful as the garden he’d seen, perhaps more so. But for the Kings and Queens, it was still just Narnia itself. “ _ There _ , we worked for Narnia. Though I was not her warrior nor her judge, yet still I worked for her good, and that was all I needed. That was all  _ we _ needed, to work together.”

“And you can still find that with Jill.” Susan’s forehead furrowed in confusion, and he sighed and shook his head. “Logic, my dear, logic! Bless me, can’t you see it? Jill is a Narnian champion, as are you.” Susan nodded, a royal permission for him to continue. “Can’t you see that she’s not done?” Susan paused, and he stopped their walk to allow her thoughts to catch up, the ideas causing her eyes to shine as she began to see. “There, there, I thought for you’d grasp it. Jill still has work to do for Narnia, I’m rather certain of it. Aslan’s made a habit of telling us when we can’t go back, and He hasn’t told her—or Eustace yet. So, logically, she still has work left to do for Narnia, and needs to learn how to do it.” By now they had resumed walking, and he could feel the Queen’s eager attention. She was so young! Though that did not lessen the truth of his final point. “You, if I may say so, are a much more experienced adventurer, both here and in another world, and have much to pass on to her.”

“And therefore much to say to her, and to do with her,” Susan finished gravely. “I thank you, Professor.” She looked away as the door to the cottage came in view, clearly contemplating her plans for the day’s events. “Your advice has been most helpful.”

“I am delighted to hear it, my dear. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take another turn. Just tell the others I won’t be in for breakfast, if you would?” She smiled again, and he chuckled inside with joy to see them returning. He bowed as she turned to go in, and she curtsied, and he watched her inside before beginning his walk again. It took all kinds to make a world, to make a heavenly kingdom, in fact. It was good to see it coming, whether in the blooming rose he was passing again, or in a blooming friendship. 

**Author's Note:**

> Long and tedious A/N: I started this story by doing math, which is always fun for an wired-for-literature-brain. Since I had to do it, I might as well share the results, but you're definitely not required to read them! WWII took place from 1939 - 1945; Peter was born in 1927, and goes to Narnia (the first time) when he's thirteen, which would be 1940. This would make him 18 (age of enlistment) in 1945, the year the war ended. However, the fighting ended in July/August, so there's a chance his 18th birthday was before then, and then there's also a chance he enlisted (if he did) when he was younger. According to Google: "In World War II, the US only allowed men and women 18 years or older to be drafted or enlisted into the armed forces, although 17-year-olds were allowed to enlist with parental consent." I couldn't find similar information for WWII in England, but I did find out that today English citizens can enlist at 16 with parental consent, so it's likely during WWII in England as well. Peter was 22 during The Last Battle, so he would have lived through that second war. trustingHim17 pointed out that Peter went to university; in my timeline here, Professor Kirk had managed well enough to invite the Four (or seven) over for short visits; since Peter is planning to enlist, he would not be planning on going to the University. He'd come back from the war, since it was won that year, and go to the University from there.


End file.
